The Admiral

Doc and Lt. Unlucky were at a bar in Area 18 on Arctec, celebrating surviving another tour of duty with all there appendages intact, when Doc was surprised to then see Jolly there waiting for him. Doc gulped. He was not prepared for "the Admiral". He was a Dangerous, dastardly, Port drinker with pointy legs and fluffy fingers. His friends saw him as a unpredictable, vicious volcano. As Doc stepped outside and the Admiral came closer, he could see the self destructive, gleeful glint in his eye.

Doc walked over to the sidewalk, lit a Lorvil light and reflected on his miserable surroundings. The drizzle rained like drinking aardvarks outside a Jumptown daycare. There were not many people out and those that were around did not look their best either.

Half baked leather smiles hidden beneath the layer under the sole of ones shoe.

Doc studied the Admiral's ruddy legs and ugly twitchy fingers. His face raw like a summer sausage. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry she died, but I can't bring her back. That Cats gone," he explained, in pitying tones.

The Admiral stared, unmoving, un blinking. Like a hateful puppy who chewed the slippers to shreds on Sunday during the unending reruns of Prince Namor.

They looked at each other with cross feelings, like two odd, old ostriches hopping at a very daring jig, which had indie flute jazz music playing in the background and several special Olympians shuffling to the beat of a zen-sunni, android drummer. The two old ostriches strolled out to the street under the full moon, tendrils of steam escaping the vents in the sidewalk curling over the scene. the stagnant fumes of asteroid mining tailings dissolving in the choking wind.

As the two old soldiers looked at each other, one smiled, one shed a tear, lost in the haze of toxic plumes drifting by.

A lone shot rang out. The shot could be heard over the deafening sound of metal scraping and the heavy clank of the armor plates hitting the pavement, like a school of tuna smacking a derelict shopping cart full of empty pilsner cans. Doc's back teeth shook as the thought of the life he once had flashed before his face. He never thought he would hear a concert in his head emanating from his teeth, much less a heavy metal concert.

The Admiral's face shattered and exploded like a supernova, as if a vengeful, evil Santa Claus had used his magical elves to replace it with an ugly, red, plastic half melted candle with pop rocks candy ejecting from every open socket. A face of death and misery and terror, Fluffy fingers. Pointy legs. He had died in a flash....A flash that would haunt Docs dreams for all the nights that he would have of them.

Doc holstered the Coda pistol in his hand, wisps of cordite smoke lingering lazily in the recycled air. He lit a Lorvil light and walked back into the bar. His bounty suffering was done.

The End